A Clean Catch
by Raggedpelt
Summary: A little one-shot fic from Perry's POV; once a year, he has no choice but to do battle with someone other than Dr. Doofenshmirtz.


Perry was tense, though he tried his best not to let it show. Right now he was draped across Lawrence's lap; they spent a lot of times hanging out on the couch like this, watching the history channel.

However, today, for no apparent reason, Perry was getting the petting of a lifetime. Seriously, like, both hands, scritches above the base of his tail, chin rubs, the works. If it were one of the kids, he would likely have fallen asleep by now, but this level of attention from Lawrence was weird. On top of that, the TV was still on the DIY channel. Normally the first thing Lawrence did when he walked in the room was change it to the History channel. Of course, if Linda happened to be cleaning house nearby, she'd change it back, and the game would be on.

If they were both home and working in the general vicinity of the TV, there was usually so much passive aggressive channel-changing that Perry felt like he was watching the Property Brothers storm the Bastille.

But instead, Lawrence was sitting here petting him, apparently oblivious to the fact that the TV was still proudly championing "open concept design". Not that this was the only warning flag. This morning Linda had been looking at Perry ENTIRELY too much. It was Ferb's day to give him his breakfast, but his bowl was completely empty, and Ferb NEVER forgot. He'd even gently shoo'd Perry away when he'd tried to beg at the table.

And to top it off, last night before bed, Phineas had attached like seven jingle bells to his collar. He'd had to hold REALLY still all night to avoid making noise that would wake the boys, and this morning he jingled loudly as he walked.

Upstairs, a door closed. Perry sat up, head tilted to listen.

"Shhh. Steady boy," Lawrence crooned, "Lay back down. There's a good platypus."

Perry didn't lay back down. Another door closed. Then another. He looked over at the sliding glass door. Typically they left it open a crack so he could come and go as he pleased, but right now it was shut. And locked. With duct-tape over the lock to prevent it from being unlocked. He started to climb out of Lawrence's lap and onto the arm of the couch, to lean over and look at the front door, but Lawrence held him in place.

Linda walked down the stairs, her eyes lingering on Perry longer than they should have, and she walked into the kitchen. He heard the can-opener and smelled his platypus-chow in the air, and his empty stomach growled in anticipation.

"Alright, Lawrence, bring him in!" she called from the kitchen.

"Hear that, Perry?" Lawrence said, scooping him up, "Sounds like your breakfast is ready."

Perry kicked his legs and wobbled in ineffective protest.

In the kitchen, his food dish was indeed full. And sitting inside of his travel carrier. HELL NO. He gave a violent thrash, slipping out of Lawrence's grasp and running up the stairs.

"Lawrence, grab him!"

Upstairs, every door had been closed and bungie-corded shut, leaving only a dead end. He looked back down the stairs, where Linda was slowly approaching him, "Come on, Perry. We're going on vacation, that's all. It's not a visit to the-"

"Don't say the word, dear."

 _Bullshit,_ Perry thought, dashing down the stairs and just narrowly avoiding being grabbed. If they were going on vacation, they would have packed a suitcase. Today was VET DAY and he was having no part of it. He didn't bother with any of his lair entrances; OWCA always deactivated them on vet day since agents had a tendency to blow their covers in their attempts to escape. Instead he ran for the basement door. Four years ago, he had wedged himself behind the washer and dryer and it had taken them almost three hours to-No dice. A chair had been propped against the basement door with four cinderblocks on it. He could hear them gaining on him

"Which way did he go?"

"Just follow the jingling."

Perry turned and fled back into the living room. Maybe if he hid under the couch, that could buy him some time to come up with a plan and— _damn it._ They had lined the floor under the couch with a cross-hatching of masking tape, sticky-side up. He pulled out, but the whole mass of tape came with it, clinging to his belly and fur and tail. Lawrence tried to tackle him as he came back out, but all he succeeded in doing was bonking his head on the arm of the sofa.

Undeterred, Perry ran between Linda's legs and back into the kitchen, trailing tape in all directions. Some of it caught on the tablecloth as he ran past, pulling it (and all the dishes that were on it) onto the floor. The tablecloth followed him until he dragged it into the trashcan; it upended the trash, but it DID unstick the tablecloth from him. That done, he ran on into the dining room.

Hopefully the trash and the tablecloth blocking the main path through the kitchen would buy him some time. Perry retracted his webbing, revealing sharp little claws. Nature had designed them for digging, but they would work for climbing in a pinch. Moving as quickly as he could, he scrambled up the dining room drapes and balanced precariously on the curtain rod. Humans, as a general rule, don't look up, so maybe they wouldn't see him here. As long as they didn't notice the long shred-marks he had just added to the sheer drapes, anyway.

No such luck. Linda entered, armed with a broom, and tried to gently nudge him down. He held on for dear life. "Honestly, Perry. How you can be this athletic when we're trying to put you in a carrier, but so lazy the rest of the year, is beyond me."

He backed towards the edge of the rod, and she followed him. Perfect. With a jolt, Perry knocked it free and jumped, tangling Linda up in the curtain. He landed on the table runner, which caused him to slide across the mahogany surface and fall off the far side. (Took out the centerpiece and upended a chair, but he was unharmed.)

Perry felt like he was starting to get the upper hand as he made another dash back into the kitchen—and almost ran head-long into the carrier that Lawrence had waiting for him just around the corner. A devious ambush, but Perry's reaction time was too fast for him. He leaped on top of the carrier, then onto Lawrence's shoulder (unbalancing the poor man and knocking him over), dashed down his back, skidded across the kitchen floor, and ran back into the living room.

He leaped onto the couch, then onto the TV, then did a bank-shot off of the wall to land up on the mantle. The TV hit the floor with a loud crash, just as Linda and Lawrence entered the room. Perry held very still, hoping they'd be too busy looking at the remains of the TV to notice him, but no such luck.

"Oh no," Linda said softly, her eyes widening.

Perry glanced over his shoulder. Lined up on the mantle behind him were carefully displayed antique china dishes. Although a lot of antiques came through the Flynn-Fletcher household, these were special. They had belonged to Linda's... either grandmother or great-grandmother. Perry couldn't quite remember, but either way they were priceless, irreplacable heirlooms. They were also between him and his escape. He looked back at Linda, who seemed frozen in place. _Damn._

With a sigh, Perry laid down where he was. Lawrence started to approach him painfully slowly, talking in a low, steady voice. "Easy, old chap. That's it."

"Lawrence, don't spook him!"

"It's okay, it's okay. Attaboy, just hold still..."

Perry held still, allowing Lawrence to scoop him up. A few heartbeats later, they had him in the carrier. To avoid a repeat of what had happened three years ago, Linda put no fewer than six padlocks on the door to keep it shut. Some sort of sheet was draped over it as well, and he could hear them attaching something else (more bungee cords?) to hold it tightly in place.

"Well, I do say that went well."

"Cleanest catch we've had since we got him," Linda agreed, "Remember last year?"

With a sullen chatter, Perry laid down and started to eat from the dish they had put in with him. Next year. Maybe next year he would win.


End file.
